I wonder right now at the wisdom (or lack thereof) of turning away from myself all day long, to then go searching for a tiny piece of myself after nightfall. I sit here night after night groping in the dark for some truth, and the truth is, I have abandoned myself for most of the hours of that have come before.

I am so discomforted in my own skin that I seek refuge outside myself. I look for oblivion in the pages of a book and to my delight, I find it and know it hour after hour. When I finally touch down for a moment, for one solitary moment of inquiry late in the day, it should not be surprising that I am sometimes met with silence.

And always, my moment is brief. Always, I know that it is a quick stop I have to make before I can turn away again into the safety and comfort of being elsewhere.

I am not really seeking myself these days. I am seeking escape from myself. Tonight, this search for my truth seems like a sham.